


Out In The Light

by HiMiTSu



Series: Home of Shadows [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Guns, M/M, Making Out, Mob AU, Mob Boss Percival Graves, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Weapons, cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiMiTSu/pseuds/HiMiTSu
Summary: After the first time Credence got kidnapped Percival Graves came to a decision it might be a good idea to teach him how to use a gun.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is set not long after Chasing a Shadow. 
> 
> Oh well…Give me blood and angst and all the darkness – no problem. But writing making out is torture. It always seems to come out wrong in the end. I hope it’s alright though. This is a short and kinda fluffy piece. I wanted to try out Graves POV. Let me know what you think! (Oh yeah and the plot is a terrible cliché but I enjoyed writing this:))
> 
> Edit: apparently I misnamed Modesty into Melody. I fixed it in all the stories and I'm sorry for any confusion!

It seemed like a fundamentally bad idea, but also a necessary evil. Percival understood that and so he was cautious in approaching the subject. Doing so at breakfast seemed cruel, he did not want to ruin Credence’s mood for the day. Lunch he had to take in the company of his Italian colleagues and he didn’t get back to the mansion until after dark. So he left the matter for another day. Except, the next day he was also away and the day after that Credence kept talking about a new book he found especially fascinating and so it was rude to interrupt. A month had gone by and Percival realized that he was losing his perfect timing for the conversation. And still…he did not want to upset Credence and there was a big chance that bringing up that particular subject would definitely be unsettling.

He was also reluctant to spook the young man.

Ever since the horrible ordeal with the kidnapping Credence was more open with his desires. And when said desires brought him to Percival’s bed…Credence had said he slept better when they were together and Percival latched on to the chance to develop some personal intimacy. It was all perfectly innocent: Credence stole into his room at some nights and crawled under the covers, burrowing into the warmth. Most times, it took him a while to fall asleep and sometimes, on more troublesome nights, he allowed himself to be held. A casual touch, barely a half-embrace, but Percival counted that as a progress.

So anyone would understand his hesitation. And if Stradford, who knew about Percival’s idea, kept sending him subtle glances, that was the old man’s problem.

However, he could not keep silent forever.

“Credence,” he called out into the library. The room was shrouded in darkness, only a small lamp on a bedside table fighting to disperse the shadows; and even it was only enough to create a small pool of light over a page Credence was currently reading. He always got so engrossed in his books. Endearingly so.

Percival cleared his throat, loudly, as he approached the chair. It was a huge plush monstrosity, all crimson upholstery and gilded metal, and Credence had claimed it as his own. Even now he was sprawled in it languidly, bare feet dangling over the armrest. He startled when a shadow fell over his book but relaxed when he noticed it was Percival.

“Mr. Graves?” He said, a greeting and a question both.

That was another thing that always got to Percival. This ‘Mr. Graves’. Said timidly or warmly, every time with so much emotion behind it.

“Credence,” he said again and leaned over the back of the chair. “There is something I wanted to discuss. Nothing too bad, I promise.” He quickened to reassure: Credence always looked spooked at a prospect of a serious conversation. Percival suspected he was still worried about been suddenly thrown out but there wasn’t anything else that would persuade him that such a thing would never happen. Percival had promised to take care of him. And, even though Credence probably didn’t remember – shocked and terrified as he had been on a night Percival led him from Mary Lou Barebone’s church – nothing could make him break it. More than that, Percival liked taking care of this peculiar young man.

It was nice having him at the house. Not as a merely another presence but as _Credence_. He had his own unique presence, quiet but clever, timid but strong-willed, fitting at the mansion just enough to look like he belonged but not enough to go unnoticed. Percival always noticed him. Credence had a peculiar type of intensity he carried with him: heavy leaded looks of his dark bottomless eyes, his voice that resonated in Percival’s very bones with low tones. He moved, always carefully aware of his surroundings but with purpose. There was something special about this young man, Percival knew it since the moment they met. He didn’t understand what, at first. Something lurked in his gaze, a darkness he desperately tried to conceal, a strength he carefully covered up.

Percival watched him now, sprawled as he was in the chair, in simple black trousers and an untucked shirt a size too big. Now that the winter was over it was too hot for sweaters so Credence opted for shirts – they were always a little too big and hang on him in a way Percival would have called seductive, except that there was this innocence to Credence that spoke of him not realizing his own appeal.

And he was, without a doubt, very attractive. Percival had noticed it at their first meeting – though now comfortable in his new home and his new life, Credence had truly blossomed. The pale pallor of his skin looked aristocratic rather than sickly. The darkness of his hair a perfect contrast to the paleness and an alluring accent to his dark eyes. Now when Credence wasn’t scared to stand straight anymore he towered even over Percival, but there was still elegance to his lithe frame and beauty to his every gesture. Though Percival might have been biased on the subject.

The closeness came easy to them and with it the intimacy. They spent many of their waking hours together and most of their nights. Credence climbed into his bed with no hesitation, it had become a habit: a blessing and a curse for Percival. He was pleased how easily Credence allowed his personal space to be invaded, how readily he moved into Percival’s touch. But the frustration, of having him so near, and being unable to touch him in a…less platonic way. It was slowly driving Percival mad. Something needed to be done; however up to this point it was easy, just let Credence get used to the new reality and allow him move forward, accept anything he wishes to share. But this, this precipice, seemed impossible to cross.

“Mr. Graves?” The young man asked, gingerly intruding upon Percival’s thoughts.

“Yes, sorry.” Percival flashed him a smile. “I wanted to suggest that you take shooting lessons. I know we talked about it before but the situation had got out of control and I want to be sure you have a means to protect yourself.”

Credence took it all in, silently, with not much of an expression on his face. It was almost impossible to read him sometimes. Then he nodded, “If you believe it is necessary.”

It was easier than Percival had anticipated but he wasn’t about to question this win. He needed Credence to have some defense. Of course, a couple bodyguards were a must now, but as the last line of defense a gun would be a practical solution. Some close combat skills would have been good as well but Percival was twice more reluctant in offering Credence a knife. He figured, it might bring back some traumatic memories and the last thing Percival wanted was to remind the young man of _that night_. Credence had stabbed Mary Lou and his older sister, though in Percival’s eyes it was justified. He had told as much to Credence.

“Good then,” Percival lingered for a moment, eyes on Credence. “I’ll be waiting for you in the back garden after lunch.”

 

* * *

 

He had asked Stradford to set up an impromptu shooting range. It was the beginning of spring so the weather was nice and warm enough for training outside. The mansion was so isolated, they would not be disturbed.

Percival had prepared his own set of guns: they were a simple but elegant pair, a good choice for a beginner as well as for a pro. He checked them with care, loaded and placed them on a small table. A few feet ahead five wooden props bore a wine bottle each. It looked ridiculous really; Stradford had admitted he wasn’t able to find a better substitute for targets. Percival preferred some trusted gun ranges for target practice but he was unwilling to take Credence out for now.

He held a gun and tried out his aim. Percival had never attempted teaching anyone before, but he hoped his experience was enough. He was so engrossed in planning that out he only noticed Credence when the young man stopped at his side. He was watching the targets, perplexed.

“Wine bottles?” He asked. There was a small crease between his eyebrows that Percival should not have found that lovely.

“Stradford did his best,” Percival assured with a chuckle. “Now, step here.” He indicated at a spot before the table. He pulled off his jacket and thrown it on the table as well.

Credence stepped up reluctantly, and glanced about for Percival. A gun was on the table before him, menacing black in the beautiful daylight. Percival left it where it was, instead coming behind the young man and holding out the gun in his hand. Credence swayed back into his space right away, pressing until they stood flush together. Reluctantly he took the weapon. It weighted heavy in his hand but he adjusted the grip and held on with more confidence.

“Alright,” Percival muttered in his ear. His hand enveloped Credence’s over the handle. “Thee fingers around the grip and your index finger along the barrel. Just outside the trigger guard.” He fixed the position a little and hummed, satisfied so far. “Good. This should give you the best leverage during the shot. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Graves,” he sounded slightly out of breath.

“Then other hand,” Percival wound his other arm around Credence to put his left hand on the gun, “Around the grip too. As high as possible. That’s right.”

Credence was actually taller than he was but more slender; despite all Stradford’s attempts to fatten him up the young man stayed as skinny as the first day they met. He fit perfectly in Percival’s embrace.

Percival held the position for a moment longer, distracted by the mere feeling of Credence, his scent, his warmth, his shallow breathing against Percival’s chest. Credence held his eyes trained ahead but there was no doubt he felt Percival’s presence as acutely. There was a flush rising up the tantalizing column of his throat and it spread to his cheeks beautifully.

“Good,” Percival rasped and let go of him. “No your stance.”

Slowly he placed his palms on Credence’s hips. He felt protruding bones under his palms, heated skin under soft cotton of his white shirt. “Feet planted firmly on the ground.” He instructed. Put more pressure in his grip and tugged on Credence’s hips until his legs moved into a proper position. “Pointed in the direction of the target. Like this.” He shifted himself until he was mimicking Credence’s stance, it brought them closer together and, even though it was terribly impractical, Percival was loath to let go.  “Feet on your shoulder length. Knees slightly bent.”

Credence ducked his head as he followed each instruction, glancing down at his feet and the back up to the gun. Percival hoped at least one of them was fully concentrated on the task.

When he was happy with Credence’s stance Percival slid his hands up, his palms settled on both sides of Credence’s waist comfortably. “Hands lightly bent at the elbows.” He chided gently. Chuckled. “Gun as far away from your face as possible.” He remembered a nearsighted kid among his peers who was too focused on aligning the gun to the target properly and forgot about it been too close – he had been walking around with burnt eyebrows for weeks after that.

“Like that alright?” Credence’s voice sounded tense.

Percival had to restrain himself from just pressing to his back completely with hands around his middle and nuzzling his neck. Credence’s skin was mere inches away from his lips, radiating heat. The small hairs at the back of his head stood up when Percival’s stuttered breath reached them. It was antagonizing.

“Perfect,” Percival said into his ear. There might have been a shiver that wrecked the body in his arms but it was so subtle he could not be sure. He explained the nuances of aiming, properly pulling from his memory all the lessons of his mentors. His voice wavered only twice and he even managed a clarification when Credence asked for one.

“I think I got it.” Credence proclaimed once they were over. He glanced down the barrel of the gun, trying it out. “Should I fire?”

“Carefully,” Percival reminded. “Take off the safety first.”

Credence looked down the length of his arm, one eye closed, and took aim. His hands were steady as he prepared for the shot.

“Very gently pull the trigger.” Percival advised and, while Credence was still aiming, added, “There will be a recoil. Be ready for it, but don’t anticipate the shot. Just carefully pull the trigger.”

Credence took a moment to steady himself. Percival stood behind him, barely breathing for the fear to disrupt the action. Soon a shot rung over the grounds and, even though it missed a target completely, Percival proclaimed it not to be a bad one.

“I didn’t hit the mark.” Credence said with an edge of frustration.

“That’s fine,” Percival reassured him. His palms were running small circles on Credence’s hips, a calming gesture he hoped. “Can’t expect you to get it on the first try.”

Credence half-turned to give him a narrowed glance; he was definitely not pleased with the lack of faith on Percival’s side. “You need practice. No one gets it on their first try.” He shrugged. “I didn’t as well.”

That seemed to mollify him at least. Credence turned back to his target, assumed a proper position and fired. Shot after shot he missed but seemed resolute to try again. When the magazine was empty instead of reloading Percival simply handed him another gun. Two more shots missed their target but on the third, a bottle on the very left snapped in two.

“Was that the one you were aiming for?” Percival asked.

Even seeing his face from the side he could notice the young man’s frown. “Not really.”

“Try again then.” He did his best to sound reassuring.

Credence sent him a sidelong glance that could almost be considered a glare – Percival enjoyed such openness. It was gone in a flash though, for Credence could get very single-minded when presented with a task. He took a longer time to aim though, readjusted his grip on the weapon and relaxed his stance some more. His eyes were trained on the front sight of the gun, just as he had been told. He took a breath, then let it out slowly. Percival could feel his body relax.

He fired.

Percival allowed himself a moment of weakness and elatedly slid his hands around Credence, encircling the young man in his arms completely. “Great shot.” He said into his ear happily. He couldn’t hold a grin that split his face and Credence’s turned face contorted in a tentative smile.

“I got it,” whispered elatedly. The corners of his lips tugged up, higher and higher until he was grinning fully. It was a beautiful sight.

“Good job.”

The compliment sent a new flush to his face. “Thank you, Mr. Graves.” He made an tempt to avert his gaze but Credence’s eyes only dropped as far as Percival’s lips and fixated there. His smile turned lax and eyes clouded. He swallowed. “Thank you,” Credence repeated but it came as a soft whisper. He seemed unable to look away.

Percival felt his own smile fall, morph into something else completely. His eyes roamed over Credence’s face hungrily – but what more signs could he need? Credence was staring, so unabashedly, at Percival’s mouth, as if it was the only source of water in a world-wide desert. The young man bit his lower lip and let it go slowly, unintentionally sensual. Percival’s hold tightened, pulling their chests together; he leaned in, as slowly as he could and as close as he dared. Credence surged to meet him.

A first press of lips was violent, all desperate intent and no finesse. It tasted brilliantly all the same. Percival eased back a fraction before pressing his lips more softly, caressing tenderly. A sound that passed from Credence to his mouth was full of desperation. A whine, so full of need it hurt.

Credence’s fingers clung to his shirt, wrinkling the fabric in a death grip. Percival felt the pressure of his knuckles through the soft cotton, it dug into the skin right over his heart. He hiked up Credence’s own shirt, pawning at the planes of his back. Riddled with small scars – Percival knew they would be there, had seen them before, but he had never got a chance to touch. To explore. To trace every smallest scratch and trade away the memories of abuse for ones of pleasure.

Credence gasped into his mouth at the contact and practically shoved himself into Percival. There was no way to get closer and still he tried, arching his back and sliding his palms to the cut of Percival’s jaw. It was intoxicating.

Percival’s head swam; it had been ages since he felt this high from just kissing someone. It might have been long months of anticipation, it might have been just _Credence_. The beauty of him. The primal urge buried under his skin, passion that he rarely allowed himself to feel but that now spilled from his lips, unstoppable. It seemed he was unable to tear himself away, claiming a kiss after a kiss. In his haste, he bit on Percival’s lip and jerked back.

Percival probed at the sore spot with his tongue. He tasted blood.

Credence’s gaze glued to the spot; there was silence for a second, then another and in the next moment Credence was on him with renewed ferocity. Percival caught him this time but they stumbled both and he had to maneuver them so they at least would be propped by the table. Credence was ignorant of such ministrations; now that he got a permission, he just _took_. His tongue slipped into Percival’s mouth and he pressed deeper, as if he wanted to crawl inside and stay there forever. He took but he also submitted himself to Percival’s mercy, completely open and fearless. His fingers gripped Percival’s hair, his body pressed so intimately close, Percival could feel his excitement. It was heady.

Percival flipped them and pressed Credence to the table, lifting him up so he could perch on the edge. It allowed him to step in between his spread thighs. Credence gasped at the feeling and let go for just a moment. Percival heard him trying to catch a breath while his shaking hand clasped the side of Percival’s face.

“Mr. Graves,” he breathed heavily into Percival’s neck. He sounded overwhelmed and for the first time Percival wondered if moving this fast was a good idea. His hold grew slack and he allowed the young man some space to breathe. But Credence clung to him, despairing not to let go.

Percival soothed him, running his hands down Credence’s side. He spoke, over the lump in his throat. “Maybe slow down a bit?”

Credence’s hair tickled his neck when the young man shook his head vigorously. Fingers in his shirt tugged him back. Percival let them but the urgency had already died down, giving way for some reasonable thought.

“You don’t want to kiss me anymore?” Credence asked, innocently sweet and sincerely despondent. His face was still hidden in Percival’s shoulder.

“Oh, I do.” The reply came heavy with emotion. His voice rasped. “I really do.” He tugged Credence up so they can face each other and pressed a slow kiss to his full mouth, to prove a point just as much as simply to enjoy it.

“Promise?” A small frown marred Credence’s features, uncertainty painted all over.

Percival’s heart ached at the sight; this poor young man who had never been loved unconditionally, completely, like he deserved. The first time he brought Credence to his home, he vowed to build up the young man’s confidence in the world and in his own importance. There was progress but not in this, not yet in this.

“I promise,” Percival whispered and sealed it with another kiss. It started tentative, just like he meant it to be, but picked up rapidly. The next moment he was claiming Credence’s mouth ferociously and his hands were on the young man’s hips, pressing them together once again. He lost all control, and only primal urge ruled his actions. It was glorious. And it was terrifying.

Credence whimpered between their lips, just as gone on the feeling.

And then a harsh sound broke them apart. A generic melody Percival put as his ringtone – the phone was ringing in the pocket of his jacket. Reluctantly he let go of Credence and leaned around him to grab it from the table. A second gun was balancing on the edge precautiously, where Credence must have shoved it blindly, and he moved further before fishing out the phone.

It was Jeremy Smith – his contact in the NYPD. That meant an urgent business.

“I have to take it,” he explained to Credence.

The young man bit his lip, brining Percival’s attention to his kiss-swollen mouth, and nodded. He was still perched on the table, but now it looked more awkward than anything. Percival answered the phone with one hand and put another on top of his knee as a reassurance.

Two of his people had been arrested in the morning and things were not going so well. Jeremy kept saying that it would be better if Percival himself showed up. “Show those stupid cops who they are dealing with,” Jeremy had announced roughly; Percival thought it prudent not to mention that the man himself was one of those ‘stupid cops’.

“I meet you at the Aurors,” Percival had replied decisively, when he got the whole picture of the problem at hand. “Half an hour.” He glanced at Credence as he said it, checking out for the reaction. The young man seemed less bothered that he had anticipated. That was good.

Percival disconnected the call without saying goodbye and turned to him. True regret colored his voice as he said, “I need to go.”

Credence nodded, “Of course.” His lips formed a small smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

Boldly, he dragged Percival back for a goodbye kiss. It lasted longer than either planned and Percival had to forcefully jerk away as not to get lost again. He took the gun and his jacket and pecked Credence on the cheek before leaving. That seemed safer. He did have a business to attend to.

He couldn’t wait to get back home. To his lover. His Credence.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I just teasing you or am I incapable of writing porn? Well, that is yet to be seen…
> 
> Also if you are interested in this AU I suggest you subscribe to the series, not to separate stories. I'll be posting every new story separately since they take place at different times but adding them to the series. As usual I'd love to know what you think! Because, honestly, comments are the best motivation:D
> 
> My tumblr: mysteryismyart


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